I've been on a trip to help my daughter and her husband with their move to a house they bought, and my husband and I decided to drive there. It's amazing how driving instead of flying makes me feel the distance more. It was cold there, and it's humid and very warm here, so it feels like I've changed seasons as well. My husband's and my job was to take care of our two year old granddaughter, so she wasn't crushed or too confused or upset. This is the kind of job we both enjoy very much, and we went to the zoo, a children's museum, and wandered the sidewalks in search of bugs and snails. We sang in the car, we ate grilled cheese in restaurants, we played in her room, we read books, we tucked dollies in bed, we fed them dinners and changed their diapers. Then we drove home and had to resist the urge to point out cows and horses. I had Raffi songs in my head the whole way back.
Now I've read the paper once again, and noticed I didn't miss anything much, and the emails were not urgent, and neither were the voice mails. I am re-entering my normal world as slowly as I can, though with a necessary grocery store and pharmacy stop, and a voice lesson and dog walking, it's too quickly. There is an azalea I need to plant and laundry overflowing, and it wouldn't hurt if I washed the sheets and towels and vacuumed. It seems the dog hair multiplies even when the dogs are at the kennel.
None of it matters really. And when I get away, I break myself out of habitual ruts and gain a bit of perspective. Today I went to the school where my younger daughter teaches, and watched the 2-3 class perform a Congolese folk tale, and was reminded again of why people become teachers. These children have so much to teach us, and they bring us back to what matters. Love and joyfulness, quickly passing sorrows and laughter; living is this act of caring for others and ourselves honorably and tenderly.
soundslike a wonderful get-a-way. Your granddaughter must have had a great time with you both.
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